


Butterfly Scars

by BusyMask



Category: Dayshift At Freddy's, Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Dave tying is damn best to cheer OS up, Fluff and Angst, Guilt, M/M, Much more tough Old Sport but he is anxious as ever, Old Sport is fucking tired and done, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow To Update, Smoking, Temporary Amnesia, depressing shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-02 13:29:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17265056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BusyMask/pseuds/BusyMask
Summary: Jack Kennedy wasn't one to joke around, but when he says that he will sell his house to start a business, people sure as hell hoped he was joking.





	1. New Year, New Life

**Author's Note:**

> So, first post! As well as a new year, wow.

Caressing his greasy hair with a free hand, he approached the barren building. The orange hued man intends to open up a decent restaurant as a way to produce fruitful income, this place needing to turn into his home since he had sold his own abode to gain such a property. No matter, even in the toughest conditions and problems, Jack somehow manages. He was a strong man after all. With an effortless push of the door, he walked inside the area.

 _Ah, the fresh smell was almost intoxicating_.

Some hint of nostalgia hit him like a brick once he entered; especially with that Phone Guy near him. Wait. _Phone Guy?_ Was he seeing things or was that another doppelganger of the usual red phone? Just..not red and now black. _He should be used to this by now._ Almost hesitantly, the new manager spoke up. “Hello. I am.. your boss, I guess?” The individual's head budged over, an uninterested vibe present on their nonexistent features. 'Ah. Welcome to your new establishment, you will be buying items with whatever amount to have stored up. One moment please.’ The monotone voice addressed to him, the other male raising a confused brow. He had to admit, he hadn't seen a Phone Guy as boring and robotic as them - most of them were annoying and bossy pricks that always wanted Jack on their side rather than … Nevermind. _He must not think about that further_. New year, new mind, and new him.

A hefty click from his strange, yet newfound, co-worker snapped him out of his thoughts. 'I see that your balance is ten-thousand; that is more than enough.’ Mr. Kennedy can't help but crack a smile. The things he could buy with that amount! If only his plans weren't on opening a god-forsaken pizza place. 'Here is a catalog of items you can purchase. Items you bought today will arrive tomorrow.’ _Sounds good._ This orange man is sure going to spend all these dollars in making this facility gorgeous, his quick eyes already glued on the given catalog. Ah, he could buy a large stage - Ooh! Maybe even try out those fascinating Rockstar animatronics! Or even- 'Sir. I will inform you to not waste all that money. Please be wary about debt and taxes.’ For the first time, this emotionless nuisance sounded a tad bit more worried in his words, but this could just be Jack hearing things again.

“Nah, everything will be alright - what can go wrong? I have a lot of cash on me.”, he assured the other. Besides, he couldn't buy THAT much in the first day, right? 'Sir. You've spent about eight-thousand.’ _Wait what._ “You..you're kidding right?” 'No, I have calculated. About eight-thousand.’ His eye twitched. “Hey, we still have two-thousand left though, right? It's going to be alright.!” And with a close of the pamphlet, his employee switches gears and put on a much-more cheery tone. Well the change in tone was.. better but more annoying nevertheless. 'Now that you're done with that, why don't you have a stroll and check this building out? This was an old place, after all. You should check if there are any oddities.’

Guess it's time, huh?

Without much noise, he- 'Sir.’ _Goddammit_ . ‘..I advise you to not go to the safe-room, the police already scouted that space and don't want anyone in there.’ _Oh?_ Scoffing, the now curious manager laid his attention to that room. “Right, right. Also stop callin’ me ‘'sir’, alright? I ain't a serious man, ya know. Jus’ call me… _Old Sport_.” With that lingering note, Jack left the phone head to process that nickname on their own.

\---

God, what was he thinking?! Old Sport. Really? _Old-fucking-Sport?!_ That one nickname given by his obsessor to annoy him?!? He promised himself to never think about that damned past.. Guess his old 'friend’ was right - Jack could never keep promises.

Hands in pocket, silent footsteps head for the mentioned safe-room, the mere thought of it bringing back some unpleasant memories. It made him wonder; is this the same location where he… _No.!_ That's not possible, _right?_ The orange pigmented man halted, being greeted by a metal door. A large hand sprawled all over the rusty frame, feeling the bumps of texture as he lead his appendage towards the handle. It was unlocked.

Peeking inside the shadows of unknown, he could see police tapes around it, concealing whatever was lurking in the dreaded room. Good thing he held his trusty flashlight, shining it while he stepped inside, closing the door with a creak. It never dawned on him before, but there sure was a horrid stench in this area. As if something was rotting in here for months- even years! Despite this, Old Sport was not fazed at the slightest, surprisingly. Taking another step, he looked ahead with widened eyes.

There it was, laying on the ground like a toy no one wanted. Jack could not believe it. He did not _want_ to believe it. All functions of his muscles shut down and he was left frozen at the sight, the light exposing lifeless eyes that haunted him. It..it was the corpse of Willi- **No.** Dave. **Dave Miller.** Stuffed in a Spring Bonnie suit, nonetheless.

Dropping to his knees, he scrambled to the other's motionless body, noticing the dried blood under him. “D-Dave.!..” Jack called out to him in a panicked frenzy, lifting up the mask to see an unsightly image that made him want to vomit. He didn't mean it. **He didn't mean it…** “..Dave I'm.. Sorry..” As much as he did not want to admit it, even a psychopath like Dave did not deserve to get spring-locked. The man always liked to think that he could change and even better himself, but… Sportsy had to ruin it, huh?

\---

'Boss! BOSS!’

The orange jerked up in surprise. W.. Was it all a dream? “What the fuck happened?” ‘You were laying on the floor and I tried to wake you up. Your items came in.’ _Oh._ Lifting his own body with a lazy tug, Mr. Kennedy sighed, patting his tired head. Maybe he was seeing things again.. Aha, right. It was just... A dream.

'You look pale, Old Sport.' He looked up at the gawking Phone, forcing a smile that almost seems broken. "I'm.. alright. Did you bring those things in?" 'Of Course.' Finally opening the door that stood between them and the cargo, the crisp air filled their workplace and their lungs. This was the second time that he felt alive for once. The first being in the hands of a..certain aubergine man that he totally did not just have a nightmare about moments ago. Signing some papers, his assistant gripped onto the boxes and carried them in, plopping them down with shaking arms. "Never knew ya actually had some feelin'.. no offense.", he jeered. 'None taken, sir.'

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I tried my hand at setting some context, so here's a start to Old Sport's PTSD and amnesia. That encounter with Davetrap did happen, after all, and of course he's not dead. He always comes back.  
> I'll update this tomorrow, my writing urges always come after 12 AM. I promise to make it longer and much more detailed in the next chapters!


	2. A Restaurant's Debut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kennedy's Pizzeria!  
> Open from 12 PM to 6 PM!  
> Bring ya kids!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I was so excited to post this chapter so it can get out of my system! Expect some mistakes here and there, though.

A few tantalizing minutes pass as the two heaved the substantial boxes filled with robotic parts and whatnot, both the phone head and the orange man at the mercy of the weight. Kennedy was used to carrying a cargo box, even with animatronic joints no less, but he doesn't remember them being such a chore - even claiming that he broke  _ something  _ while he hauled the objects in. Sweaty palms on tired knees, the manager chuckled breathlessly at how much pain he endured temporarily. God, he was getting old wasn't he? How long has it been, anyway? He seems to have forgotten his own age, sadly. For all he knew, he looks moderately  _ young  _ , but he felt like an elder. Straightening up his posture as well as fixing his messy locks, he walked over to the stationary employee of his.

“..wow you smell fantastic.” Old Sport furrowed his brow at the words. “Was.. Was that sarcasm or was that a compliment?” The answer to that was obvious, but it sure is funny to think that comment was supposed to be a vague flatter regarding himself. Speaking of stench, he should probably buy an air freshener or something to ease the tense environment and loosen up with a pleasant fragrant. Wow, a possible good-smelling restaurant is much better than that old location! “It was sarcasm, I attempted to match your personality so we can get along. Us phones are set to be the comfort to everyone, after all.” Gritting his teeth slightly at that notion, he just nods weakly as a response, now turning attention back to the items he bought. 

“Okay, we need to unpack and assemble these, huh.” Gingerly opening the folds of the boxes, the first thing he saw was the instruction manual. As if relieved to see that first-hand, he exhaled and hummed in approval. Jack was not a 'master’ at machines, if you can tell - only a few years in engineering and he was stuck with making blueprints most of the time. Confidently, he set the manuals down and withdrawn pieces of the soon-to-be Rockstars, setting them all down.

“Alright, here we go. You just have to twist it in place until you hear a click, sounds easy enough!” Luckily for him, it was truly easy; just a quick twist and a click! No need for aching muscles anymore!

A silent twenty minutes flew by, Jack wiping beads of sweat from his forehead as he finished up while his companion followed behind. “Old Sport.”, they said, making the said man shiver uncomfortably. “Ya know what? Jus- Just call me Mr. Kennedy. That nickname isn't working.” 

“..okay. Mister Kennedy, I am done with both Rockstar Chica and Foxy, should we put them all on stage?”

“Of course! It wouldn't be a pizzeria without animatronics, right?” Stretching his exhausted arms above his head, he prepared his hands to hoist these metal beings onto the elevated stage - with his phone guy's help, of course. Knuckles cracked and everything, the two boosted them up, both wishing that they set up the machines  _ on  _ the stage in the first place. Still, the two - or just Old Sport - was proud of his workplace already, placing both of his overjoyed arms on his hips to signify a sort of confidence.

“Would ya look at that! Damn, those are robots alright!” 

“Mhm. I suggest that we open the place already.”

“What, wait. We don't have a cook for the pizza or anything.” 

“I already called one in to come today, but they have not showed up yet.” 

“ Isn't opening time a few minutes from now. ”

“Well, yes.. I am sure they will arrive earlier than that, though.” 

Not wanting to argue and boil his blood more, he immediately dropped the conversation and turned it towards the somewhat familiar arcade games near them. “Hey, gosh, these came with the whole thing, huh? A bit dusty too.. I think I played these games before..” He trailed on for a moment, caressing the ancient-looking machine in awe. Jack remembers the games, the exact spot they were in, and what they looked like.. but how? He had never been in this building his whole life.. or has he? “Interesting, but Mister, you look troubled - like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Eh? Well, I’m just.. Baffled at how accurate this placement is compared to my old work; almost identical, even!”

“Wasn’t this your old workplace, though? You stated that when you first bought the place.” Blinking, Old Sport gazed at the phone-headed man in confusion. “..you said that you wanted to pick this facility back up with a better boss. Don’t you remember?”

“I..Uh, no. You see I have-”

“Your medical reports say that you have slight amnesia from minor brain damage, is that right?” He shut his jaw up, knowing that his employee knew more than he expected, fingers getting dirty from the dust resting on the arcade.

_ Tick, tock, tick, tock  _ ; a clock spoke, its hands slowly moving with every sound. Ten more minutes.

Scanning the area like a stalking cat, he was tempted to look back at the horrors of the back room now that his employee had mentioned his forgetfulness as well as validating that this was where he used to work before, wanting to know if what shook him to the core was a work of fiction rather than reality. Then again, it would make sense for his old acquaintance to be here; specifically his rotting corpse, of course. “Hey, phone-y. Can you please greet the pizza chef when they come? I need to stroll around an’ do a daily check.” 

“Alright, but.. Call me  _ Liam _ from now on - I have chosen that name.”

“Oh, okay.. er… Liam.” Strange. This phone is.. different. Saying his reluctant goodbyes, he hoped that his assistant would open the doors in time. It  _ was _ the first day of his new masterpiece after all. 

\---

Proceeding onward, it was like yesterday all over again; his heart rate rising as he head for the safe-room door, noting that the smell from his presumed dream was still present. He did not bring a flashlight, nor did he bring anything of use. It was only him and Dave’s decomposing carcass. Unfastening the handle of the illusive metal frame, Old Sport cautiously step foot inside once more. He found himself eyeing the darkness as expected, closing the opening slightly so he can access it quickly and make a speedy get-away. Well aware mentally and physically on what was to come, his abnormal pupils shone in the shadows before him. Jack then reached out for flesh, his digits feeling the cold walls instead. With fatigued eyes shocked and bothered, he took both hands and felt the emptiness in front of him, trying desperately to find that golden suit. No luck.

If that was the case.. Then that nightmare was a trick of the mind to remind him of what he has done, maybe it was a poor attempt to even  _ guilt _ him. It didn't work. He felt no remorse whatsoever. He  _ knows _ that Dave  _ deserved _ such harsh treatment. Killing for no good reason and only for fun was not enough to convince Kennedy… but, somehow, somewhere in his soulless body, he still had some space left for him in his heart. He had to concede that he was enjoyable to be around; making crude yet stupid jokes that often made Old Sport snort in amusement as well as finding light in the darkest of situations. What eventually caught him off-guard was that one file he found at the office computer, it was worded as though this purple man was borderline  _ obsessed _ with him, now choosing to stay away and become distant to his 'friend’. Their feelings towards Jack were unknown, though he had this hunch that Dave might've  _ loved _ him at some point. But that's.. unlikely. Right?

Taking in a deep inhale and exhaling a gust of air, he was relieved to find out that his suspicions were false, closing the door behind him as he exits the room filled with mistakes. However, his paranoia made him wonder further because it just doesn't add up - this was,  _ in fact _ , the place where he got trapped - why isn't this abomination of tangled skin and suit here? Eyes darting back and forth, he conjured up any reason for this burning question, hoping that at least one of them were plausible. Moments passed and thoughts turned to internalized panic, realizing the possibility that Dave might be out and about in this very property.  _ “But, maybe.” _ , Jack thought,  _ “..maybe he escaped and left this place. He's none of my business anymore!”  _ Mood suddenly starting anew one more time, he forced himself to be optimistic for himself, his work, and the new patrons. He had to put up a happy visage for the kiddens AND adults.

“ Come on, Mr. Manager! Put on a smile, why don't 'cha? Aren't you happy to open this place?”

He could hear them mock.

\---

As prideful as he was, Jack was sure was cold to the world around him, only observing each and every customer that came in. There was no cheerful 'welcome’ or anything, just the watchful irises of the owner. He was not planning to make any small talk today, sitting down with a fist on his cheek and dying of boredom. At least, that employee of his was there to accompany him.

“How was the check up - tell me you  _ didn't  _ go to the safe-room.” 

“Uh,  _ I didn't go there? _ And it was good, no problems.” That was blatantly a white lie. 

“Ah, also, Mister Kennedy, after closing time, we aren't done.. We have to check if there are any lawsuits and how much you gained today.”

“I don't mind doin’ that, it's not like I need to go home or anything 'cause  _ this is my home _ .”

“..forgot about that.” This clueless conversation turned to dead silence between the two, Old Sport's eyes still glued to the door as he started a curious path into his mind again. Could he be recalling his past experiences or was he stuck with thoughts of the cadaver?

“ Mommy! That guy looks familiar! “ Looking back up to greet some child's voice, he was met with their mother, who seemed to be a respectable businesswoman weirdly enough. Instead of slouching, Jack picked up his large frame and sat straight, wanting to look presentable to her. Not like it matters, everyone else acted like animals while in the pizzeria. “Hello, sir! Not to be a bother, but you look like that employee who saved my sweet boy from that purple murderer.. I forgot to say 'Thank You’ so..” Cracking up a somewhat smug grin, he chuckled at her words. “Don't sweat it, ma'am, always glad to help.” She smiled at him from ear to ear, holding her child's hand securely as she walked to go get pizza.

“She's a swell lady, huh?” The manager shrugged, his elbows on the top of his thighs as his phone continued to ramble.

“To be honest, if I had a chance, I would approach her and marry on the spot.”

“Aw, now that's just cute. I didn't know you phones can feel love.”

Upon hearing his statement, the polished, black and white telephone was immediately muddled. “I mean, don't you agree?” Raising a hand, he taps his cheek, pondering. 

“Hm. I don't really care much for love, but.. Some, I guess, are an exception. It's scary falling in love, ya know?”

“Do you have an eye on someone, then?” As if a way to halt this topic, Kennedy stood up from his seat. “You're askin’ too many.. personal questions, kid. But, I have to say, I  _ had _ my eye on a certain dead man.” Dumbfounded by his answer, Liam gawked at it for a silent second, at least hearing Old Sport shout  _ “If you need me, I'm in my office!” _ . Was he joking?

Delicate fingers intertwining with the soft surface of his tangerine colored tie, he undone the knot, letting his tense neck loosen up and relax. He never really liked socializing in general, the atmosphere thickening whenever some average Joe approaches him. Jack was much more comfortable with friends or family, but he still felt paranoid around them, thinking that they might backstab him one day. He is a lone-wolf, as some of them say. Plopping onto the jet black seat, he leaned back and looked at the plain ceiling, eyes getting weary.  _ “It does take 6 hours 'till closing time” , _ he thought silently, _ “Maybe I could hit the hay for a bit..”   _ Well, he did need to rest, considering his fatigued mind. He seen a lot, he also stopped to think a lot, and it seems to have worn out his brain temporarily. Getting comfortable, he lowered the chair a tad bit then fluttered his bizarre eyes into a content close. 

Face slacking into one of melancholy, Old Sport was asleep in a matter of minutes.

\---

“ **Old  Sport.** ” Slowly opening his eyelids, Jack felt someone cradling the back of his head, a dazed smile forming on his still exhausted physiognomy. “I knew you'd come back..” He replied in a whisper whilst decaying hands tentatively touched his fresh strands of orange locks, their nose planted on his scalp to enjoy his scent. A hesitant palm reached out for the other, feeling the coarse texture of their 'face’ as they gazed at their prized possession. “ **I missed you, Sportsy.** ” Laughing wholeheartedly, they stared back at the figure with a look of need, sensing digits grazing upon his scarred throat. Kennedy’s body stills as his awaited love wrapped their appendages onto his neck, giving him a playful yet deadly squeeze. The grip suddenly tightened, the orange individual having no resistance whatsoever. He deserves this.  **_He wants this to happen._ **

“ **You're so selfish, Old Sport.** ”, he heard through gritted teeth. “I know I am.” Still smiling as his breathing depletes, a raspy laugh erupted from him, tears starting to flow as the pressure became lethal. “Wil-William-- G-God, I love y--”

\---

Jerking up from his slumber, he woke in cold sweat. He was breathing heavily, clutching his chest moments later. It felt so real.. But it never happened, did it? Taking some time to realize that he was still in his dull office, Jack felt the sensation of his heart pounding with all that adrenaline rush. Even if it was just a nightmare, it left him weak and trembling. As tough as he was, he honestly wanted to let go and bawl his eyes off or vent to  _ somebody _ , slightly worried that they might find him pathetic. Just then, his door was knocked on, him wiping dampened pupils and opening it with a creak. “Sir, it's closing time, should we go and check the stats?” Scratching his aching head, he yawns. 

“Are you serious? It's already hff… Damn I've been asleep.” 

“...you should go back to sleep, sir, you don't seem to be in the peak condition to-”

“No! No. I'm okay. Just.. Bring me those papers, in my office right now.”

“You know, you can just settle them with two-hundred dollars, if you are not feeling well.”

“OkaY! I AM DOING EXACTLY THAT - don't mind my shouting!”

“..I am assuming you are either drunk or had a nightmare.” Either way, Kennedy was honestly shocked that he could guess accurately. 

“Nightmare. Now, go an’ - I don't know - settle those claims, okay?” With a quick nod from the phone head, Liam rushed back to deal with the bogus claims given to their restaurant. And so, the manager was left to regain his bearings, quivering slightly as he stares at the grey ceiling. He hated this feeling of uneasiness, a slight sensation of deja vu in the back of his exhausted mind. 

Nevertheless, what's done is done.

**Tomorrow is another day.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the VERY late next chapter! I had work and I merely didn't have the time to write. So expect me updating really slowly.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I tried my hand at setting some context, so here's a start to Old Sport's PTSD and amnesia. That encounter with Davetrap did happen, after all, and of course he's not dead. He always comes back.  
> I'll update this tomorrow, my writing urges always come after 12 AM. I promise to make it longer and much more detailed in the next chapters!


End file.
